


Morning Glories in Orsinium

by Peripheral_Visions



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Adult situational humor, F/M, I will probably post this incorrectly somehow, Kade's sense of adventure outweighs his sense of self-preservation, My First AO3 Post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22177072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peripheral_Visions/pseuds/Peripheral_Visions
Summary: Kade Arcshot, master thief, reluctant but skilled assassin, bearer of Armor of Distraction and all-purpose Unwise Pusher of Red Buttons, Nightblade of the Bouncing Bosmer Brigade, discovers why one should approach historical research and festive customs with caution when blundering through the Orcish capitol.
Relationships: Curator Umatha/Original Male Bosmer Nightblade
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Morning Glories in Orsinium

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really enjoy online games with stories and I'm in a guild that likes to include "About You" character photos, profile sketches, etc. Oddly, my characters tend to take on individual lives and personalities of their own way beyond the parameters of the base storylines of any game I play, so I'm making a linkable repository here of brief tales, anecdotes, or expanded development of canon storylines that illustrate the misbehaving misfits that tend to take over my gaming time. Kade Arcshot is my main character for Elder Scrolls: Online
> 
> I do not own Umatha, Orsinium, or the House of Orsimer Glories or Nightblades as a character class. Don't own Sithis or Sanguinus (although I may have met him on Spring Break once...). However, Kade Arcshot is all my fault and my creation. And the Bouncing Bosmer Brigade is Nuala Shasta, Kade Arcshot, and Yimae Hero-of-the-Isles, so that's claimed too (although contact us in-game for an invite :D). This story bubbled up after completing the Orsinium content. It's based on the House of Orsimer Glories scavenger hunt, but I (well, Kade, really) took it further beyond its nice, tame ending. Because Kade never leaves well enough alone.

Warmth. There was warmth. Lots of it. A rhythmic rumble nearby, steady and hypnotic and comforting. And something…soft. Furry. Against his naked skin, with a weight to it. Kade stretched languidly and burrowed in deeper, wondering when he ended up back in Grahtwood. Sure, he had a place there, complete with the traditionally expected fur and leather bedding, but…wait. Wasn’t…quite right. Grahtwood felt, smelled…different. Like, warm amber and blossoms. Always something blossoming. This was…spicier. Darker. Not unpleasant, really. Honestly, he found his ancestral homelands a little cloying. And weird. Who drinks ANYTHING made from fermented bugs, meat, and milk? Ew. He cracked his eye open blearily to find an arm draped across him, part of the warm weight upon him. Oh. Huh. The arm was…slightly...was it green-tinted?

His eyes shot open. The orc woman beside him dozed contentedly, a faint smile visble through the tusks, black tribal marks streaking her face. Oh-dear-Sithis-what-had-he-done…he jerked and suppressed a frantic yelp as he found his wrists bound to something solid and unmoving….a stone orcish bed, likely, piled high with soft furs underneath them. Oh-shit-Sanguinus-what-in-Oblivion-did-you-get-me-into-this-time...

Kade fought down his instinctive panic at the restraint and scanned his environment. OK, breathing good, panic bad. Environment scan—a woman’s dress and undergarments were flung carelessly across a chair and a simple desk, The longcoat from a rather small set of armor in an archaic Orcish style appeared to have been flung with abandon over an armoire in the corner; a chestpiece lay cast aside on the floor and pants abandoned at the foot of the bed. Hmm. The armor rang some vague kind of bell with him; he half-remembered a triumphant snarl? And eager hands helping yank it off of him. But…he was pretty sure he’d never owned any Orcish armor. Although the size…

Whatever. Later. Scan.

Dresser. Against the wall. Yes. Clothes! Clothes he recognized! He stared longingly at the shirt that had his second-favorite lockpicks hidden in the sleeves, neatly folded atop the leather pants with the imitation vintage lockpicks (really not good fakes, but decent picks, and sturdy at least) worked into the side seams. The belt with the buckle with the secret compartment was coiled on top of the shirt. The boots with the hollow heels were lined up on the floor. 

Obviously, this wasn’t a prison cell. The room was cozy, comfortable, and tidy, much like the carefully folded state of his clothes. Ergo, he must have played some active and consensual role (emphasis apparently on Sensual along with the Con) in the circumstances that landed him here, affixed to an orc woman’s bed by…fur-lined manacles? Wait—they looked awfully familiar. Hadn’t he had a set just like those? Novelty manacles…he’d bought…somewhere….Riften? No, wait, those had had the mammoth fur that always smelled funny. These were replacements he got…where…Orsinium? Yes! At the gift shop! Along with a drinking mug made from genuine imitation Breton skulls and a tabard stating “I Heart Wrothgar.” It was adjacent to the museum. The House of…

Oh. Oh, yeah. The House of Orsimer Glories. With the curator...U-something. Lady orc...red hair, nice body? Unamit? Umame? Umatha? Yeah. Umatha. With the…ah. Yeah. With the tribal face tats. Who was currently sleeping partially draped across him with a placid smile around her tusks. He glared down at his naked body, “Sometimes you’re almost more trouble than you’re worth.” 

Yeah. Celebration drinks. That’s right. He’d obtained the last of the relics, for which she’d rewarded him additionally with some rather dashing replica sets of classic Orc armor, tailored to his size. Which lead to more celebration drinks in the armor, and checks of the fit. Everywhere. Which lead to some “historical re-enactments” involving the ancient orc hero captured by some primordial goddess or something. Which lead to lots of flying clothing, loud conquests of each other, and him now chained to her bed as her, umm, sacrifice of seed? Gods, this didn’t seem nearly as embarrassing last night.

“Mmmph?” The curator stirred beside him. She rolled over away from him and stretched languidly, “Trinimac’s toenail trimmers, that was a bizarre dream.” Umatha rolled her head, then froze as she caught sight of Kade, who carefully stayed very, very still. The orc woman’s eyes widened and paled visibly. “Oh, k’grorgth.”

“Umm…hi?” He opted to go for wide eyes and a nonthreatening smile, and really, really wished he could cover himself up. Innocuous innocence is a lot easier without some things being on display. He batted wide green eyes at her through his fringe of unruly plum-colored bangs, “Ah, this is kind of awkward, but…is there a key somewhere to these?”

The Orc woman went from pale to a deeper shade of red as she scrambled to wrap herself in blankets. “Ah, err, Mister…Arcshot. Good morning. I…am unsure about the key. Or where those came from, in fact.” 

“Gift shop.”

“We don’t sell manacles.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.” She leaned in closer. “They have a Nord symbol…looks like Riften?” 

“The fur’s echatere. RIften cuffs use mammoth fur. It stinks.”

The orc eyed him judgmentally, “Oh, pardon me. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a qualified connoisseur of bondage gear.” 

The Bosmer scowled, wounded, “I’m just saying. Probably the same supplier of the base manacle. But the selling point of these was locally sourced free-range echatere fur.”

The orc rolled her eyes, “I stand corrected.” 

“I can’t stand at all until we get me out of these.” 

“Well—close your eyes. Or something. I need to look outside; I think you insisted on proving that you could accurately use your tongue alone to launch small projectiles. You used the key to do a trick shot out the window.” She eyed him askance.

“Feeling judged here.”

“Points for perception, at least. Besides, I need to get dressed anyway. Eyes. Now.”

“Seriously? After we played ‘Urglarathor gets Captured By the Goddess of Spring?’ I’m pretty sure we covered all the territory we—“

“Enough!” She pinched the bridge of her nose and winced. “Just…leave me some dignity.” Umatha sighed, summoning her reserves of patience. “Look, I will admit,  
things got a bit carried away last night. And yes, I will concede that the experience was unexpectedly pleasurable—“she scowled at Bosmer’s smirk and lifted eyebrow. “Alright, fine, I enjoyed the night. Completely. We BOTH did, as I recall. But…you’re…how do I say this? You’re a wood elf--”

“A gifted and skilled wood elf. With astonishing reserves of stamina--”

Umatha’s answering eyeroll was epic, if slightly marred by a flush of memory, “Yes, yes, fine. And remarkable flexibility, by the way. But a wood elf nonetheless. And I’m an orc. I would NEVER live it down if there were even the suspicion that I’d bedded a Bosmer.” 

The curator paused, seeking the right words. “We…as a people, we’re still finding our way. Growing, and finding our own place in the world. But…we don’t trust outsiders. Not much. Not easily, and not yet. And I’m stirring up enough things as it is digging through all the rubble of our past, trying to get us to come to terms with our history and be proud of who we are. The last thing I need is to settle down, least of all with a pint-sized elf.” She caught herself and glanced back at him, “No offense. And not that your, umm…that your proportions and performances were dissatisfying,” she blushed a tinge, then cleared her throat and looked back up at his face, “But much as Orsinium appreciates your help with the debacle with our king, they’d burn down the museum at the idea of any kind of elf taking an Orc woman, regardless of her willing enjoyment of the experience.” Umatha sighed poignantly, “I am sorry. But some things...simply aren’t meant to be.” 

“Err, so…yeah…I think I can learn to move on. Somehow. But, umm….key? Or…hand me…umm, my belt?” Kade was still unsure how he went from prospective sex toy to being let down easy, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. And he really needed to pee. Which would be hard to do, chained to the bed.

Umatha looked puzzled as she passed him his belt, then gaped as he popped open the compartment. Nimble fingers had the picks fished out and lock popped before she could even put words to the question. She blinked, then nodded, “I…see. This is…such a relief. Given your skill set, I don’t mean to offend, but…could you perhaps consider a bit of extra discretion when you leave, then? I have clan representatives due shortly.” 

“Not a soul will ever know I was in the area.” Kade smirked confidently, already half dressed and quickly closing in on the second half as he tugged his boots up over close-fitting leather pants and slung his jacket on over a loose undertunic. “Ghosts wish they could vanish like I can.” 

She looked visibly relieved. “Oh, thank…whoever you prefer.” She paused and eyed the scampering Bosmer as he rounded up his remaining belongings, “Although…should you end up in Orsinium again, I think a future visit might be...quite welcome. I’m sure there’s more…historical research…that we could explore at some point. To understand the context of the relationships, of course.” 

He met her grin with his own, “Anything in the name of advancing research. And I’ll be sure to bring you any new interesting tales of lore I come across. For, umm, research purposes, of course.” 

“Of course. But next time, the key stays in the room.”


End file.
